New Born
by dontdreamoffallingconsciously
Summary: Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, retro; OotP and HBP, how it all began. A different, intensive take. Inspired by Muse.


**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter characters, themes, etc, belong to JK Rowling.

* * *

New Born

The rhythmic thumping of her pulse in her ears was her midnight wake up call. Wiping a stray strand of frizzy brown hair off her sweaty forehead, she swung round in bed, her feet dangling above the ground.

The moon shone in her open window, the dull July heat pressing against her back.

"Fuck," was her waking word of choice.

Her feet, illuminated by coral-red toenails and a questionable ring or two, plunked ungraciously onto the wood floor. Teddy-bear comforter wrapped around her shoulders in a profoundly cape-like style, she stumbled towards the door, opening it with little concern for the slumbering people around her, and wincing herself as it slammed against the adjacent wall.

Down two sets of winding stairs she wandered, occasionally stumbling over the fraying tail of blanket, swearing as she fitfully composed herself. Her furious pace only slowed when she passed a large, looming portrait of a hideously unattractive older woman, snoring quietly with a displeased grimace on her pale face.

Her night-time escapade seemed to come to a halt as she entered the kitchen, bee lining for the fridge, pouring herself a very full glass of milk, and settling herself down on an uneven barstool.

In a most unladylike fashion, she drank the entire amount in two huge gulps.

"Thirsty?"

The barstool proved to be even more unsteady than previously imagined, as at the sound of another voice, the young woman let out a shrill yelp, and twisted violently in her place, resulting in one body sprawled on the floor in a definite state of shock.

"Damn, I didn't mean to scare you."

She peered up at the dark figure, leaning down towards her, a hand outstretched to help.

"Lupin?" she asked, her voice sounding much too croaky and tired.

"I'm really sorry." He stepped forward, his face falling into the light. A piece of tawny hair fell into his eyes. "I didn't mean to scare you."

She took his hand, immediately regretting it as she remembered how clammy her own were. He didn't mention it as he pulled her up with ease.

"Maybe another seat?" he asked, offering his own.

She traced a circle on the marble countertops, stifling a yawn and trying to concentrate her thoughts. "Um," she mumbled, looking up at him through a thick fringe. "Sure."

He graciously moved aside, finding a comfortable position leaning against the counter.

There was a moment of silence. She tried not to squirm.

"Hold on," she started, her mind slowly beginning to shift into gear. "I haven't seen you in ages. Like ... months. I had no idea you were staying here ... you just arrive?"

He stared at the ceiling for a minute, apparently trying to murder her with quiet.

"Yes," he said, not turning to look at her as he spoke. "I've been busy."

_Bloody man._ "I see. You've got things to do, places to be, I've got it," she mused, wondering why she continued to speak.

His face changed for a moment - was it a smile? He turned into the darkness, the brooding thing.

"Sirius know you're here? I'm sure he'd be thrilled. I'm not much company, he keeps reminding me. I'm working most of the time, you know. I'm only staying her so I don't have to waste money on a flat. Just doesn't make much sense to me. Ministry doesn't exactly pay well, if you haven't heard. Especially for a low level Auror – not to say what I'm doing isn't important, but it's not particularly high priority, I suppose. Filing paperwork ... but it gets things done, and it's a learning experience. It..." she died down, a last quivering croak emerging before she began her mental beating beneath reddened cheeks.

Again, a long silence elapsed. But this time, he turned to look at her, his elbows perched on the countertops, his brown hair almost completely eclipsing his eyes. It had certainly grown since she saw him last. Not that she had paid much attention – he'd always been quiet at the meetings, talking mostly to Sirius and Dumbledore, occasionally chatting politely with the Weasley's. Except for the odd head nod, she would have thought he hadn't even known she existed – a difficult task in itself, according to Sirius. Without speaking, she could manage to be the loudest in any situation, always knocking everything over, and tripping over her own two feet. She called it embarrassing, Sirius called it first-rate entertainment.

But now, here he stood, looking her dead in the eye. He'd never seemed to her a particularly confident chap, but his stare was unnerving. She held her tongue, in fear she'd go on another nervous rampage.

He shifted suddenly, leaning forward towards her. He reached into his pocket, drawing something out, breaking off a piece, and sticking in into his mouth. "Sirius does know I'm here," he said, pausing as he chewed. "Chocolate?"

"Please," she said, as he voiced the one thing she needed at the moment. She fingered it delicately before popping it into her mouth, chewing with as much dignity as she could manage.

He drifted back, replacing the chocolate and choosing instead to peer out the window, his eyes gleaming in the shining white.

"You know I'm a werewolf, correct?"

She blinked at the calmly spoken question. He could have just asked if she had the time. "Yes," she said quickly, trying to swallow the last bit of chocolate.

He continued to stare out the window. She wondered if she should repeat herself, unsure if he heard.

"Ah – I don't, uh, have a problem with it. That is – I'm completely supportive, I mean. It's great! Well, it's not great, actually, it's quite unfortunate, but... I'm not... I don't..." She silenced herself once again, trying to contain herself from banging her head against the nearby wall. He hadn't move an inch as she spoke, his expression unchanged.

She fiddled with her fingers, sarcastically musing about her first real conversation with the man being such a colossal failure.

"You don't say much, do you?" she spat out, unwilling to just get up and leave, but all hope lost for a successful conversation.

His eyes flickered from the window. He didn't look at her eyes, like he had before, just in her general direction. For the first time, she noted a long, jagged scar on his right cheek ... had it been there before?

"I suppose not. You don't think I could blame it on the lateness of the hour? I'd hate for you to find me incredibly rude." He didn't appear to be smiling, but she had the distinct impression that somehow, he was.

For the first time during the entire exchange, she felt a bit of tension inside her ease. "Go right ahead. And you'll just have to show me, on a different occasion, that you are quite the opposite. I'd be disappointed if you proved to anything but the upmost gentleman."

"Of course, it'll be arranged." He dropped his eyes for a second, perhaps collecting his thoughts. "And maybe, at that time, I could inquire just what occurred that prompted you to rise from your bed at such a late hour, and drink such a large amount of milk."

"Perhaps I'll ask the same of you." She bit her lip. "Minus the milk, of course."

"Oh, that I can tell you now." He looked back out at the window. "I'm waiting for something."

"Waiting for what?" Her own insecurities completely forgotten, she absorbed herself in the mystery, her eyes twinkling a bright side of blue in the moonlight.

He looked at her; his own eyes looked much brighter than they perhaps should. Intensely, they peered into hers, searching for something unknown. It wasn't desperation twinkling behind those orbs, it was something else – but nearly as dangerous, nearly as difficult to fix. She suddenly felt like she was on the brink of understanding this man she had yet to even be properly introduced to, yet to even learn his first name. She opened her mouth, unknown words ready to make an impression, when he broke the stare, turning again to look out the window.

This time, he stood, his back and shoulders arched with tension. He moved from his place, standing instead beside her.

"Goodnight, Nymphadora," he said quietly, bowing his head ever so slightly. As he walked away, the scent of warm amber surrounded her.

She sat there for what seemed like a very long time, puzzling over just one thing.

Why on Earth had he called her Nymphadora?


End file.
